


Dancer in the Dark

by Jtargaryen18 (snowqueen79), snowqueen79



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Light Bondage, Oral Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Stalking, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-30
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:42:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26184388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowqueen79/pseuds/Jtargaryen18, https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowqueen79/pseuds/snowqueen79
Summary: You’re a ballet dancer in NY, sharing a house with a mysterious man. The rent is reasonable, he’s gone a lot, no questions asked. But what happens when he wants to make changes to your arrangement?
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 111





	Dancer in the Dark

Things had felt off all day. Work at the boutique below studio had been stressful. You’d gotten to the ballet studio late and the choreographer had ripped your performance to shreds.

Now you were home and it was just after midnight. You couldn’t get the choreographer’s biting comments out of your head.

_This is not a dance of innocence but a regal dance. It tells a story. Your dance is weak._

You’d worked hard on the dance and thought it was pretty good. You could always improve but…

So you were practicing in the room you’d made into your home studio. It wasn’t much. It would have been your living room. But you didn’t have many friends and those you had were in your ballet company. You even worked with a couple of the other dancers.

Your heart fluttered as you worked through the intricate steps. The black leotard, tights, and wrap skirt made you look like a shadow as you passed the mirrors in the darkened room. Your worn pointe shoes were a comfort as you moved.

Glissade, piqué first arabesque, and retiré en face, the first repetition.

_Dance with authority. You’re not an ingenue in this dance._

You’d been lucky to find a place in Brooklyn with what you could afford. You were close to your job, close to the theatre. It had been a gift because It was your fourth year in the company, and you were getting ready for the annual performance of _The Nutcracker_ in a few weeks. You’d earned the role of the Sugar Plum Fairy this year – if you could hang onto it. Your character was queen of the Land of Sweets. Your dance the moment Clara moves from childhood to the realm of adults in the story.

Glissade, piqué first arabesque, and retiré en face, the second repetition. _Fucking stay en pointe._

It wasn’t the most orthodox rental arrangement. You were actually sharing the two-story house with its owner. The downstairs was yours. The kitchen, master bedroom, guest room, one and a half baths, and the living room you’d made into your studio were your domain. There was a washer and dryer combo in the basement, and you shared that.

Third repetition.

A chill dropped down your spine. You paused to look around, plagued by that creepy sensation that you were being watched.

The owner lived upstairs, and you’d never gone up there even though he’d be gone days at a time. You knew there was a bathroom, probably a couple of bedrooms. An attic. The agreement was that he could come and go as he pleased. And he did though you’d only ever seen him a couple of times since you made the agreement three months ago, climbing up the stairs to his rooms in the early morning hours when you couldn’t sleep and came down to dance.

Otherwise, he was _never_ there. Maybe that was a good thing.

Glissade, piqué first arabesque… You couldn’t stay en pointe. _Fuck! Stay on your toes._

You knew your landlord as Grant Kelly, and you wondered from the beginning if he was trying to keep a low profile for some reason. When he put _your_ last name on the mailbox out front, you were more than a little suspicious.

But the rent was ridiculously reasonable, and he didn’t ask for much. He requested that you pay your rent in cash, take care of your portion of the house, and if anyone should ever ask about him, get their contact information for him and say as little as possible. And that wasn’t a hardship because you didn’t know anything about him except that he seemed oddly familiar.

_And that he was gorgeous._

Oh, and absolutely _no_ overnight guests.

You weren’t entirely sure what that was about, but it wasn’t a problem. You didn’t entertain, didn’t have time for a relationship. The lot of you in the company had gone out for drinks after a particularly rough practice a couple of weeks ago. You hooked up with one of the newer guys in the crew, but he didn’t stay overnight. He’d left at two in the morning. He was a good friend and there was nothing more to it than that. You’d both been merely scratching an itch.

The music on your phone played on through your small speaker setup and you started over. The sequence repeated four times and you needed to stay en pointe. You could do this. You heard the rumble of thunder in the distance.

You made it through the sequence of steps once, twice. Your heart thumped loudly in your chest as the wind outside picked up, pushing against your windows. The third repetition, the fourth. You made it through the relevés passes, happy as you made it to the series of pirouettes.

Grant had no problem when you wanted to modify the room a little to hang up mirrors, install a barre. The wooden floor had been rough and that had been an issue until one weekend when the company had done a charity performance out of town. You came back to find the floor sanded and refinished. A perfect surface for you to dance.

You waited days to catch Grant wearily climbing up the stairs late one night to say thank you. It had to have been a lot of work to get done in a weekend.

“Just remember the rules,” he’d told you quietly on his way up the stairs.

You could glide across the floor and you did, mindful of your port de bra. You made it to the piqué, step-up and chaîné turns, lost in the music, concentrating on the journey. The choreographer wanted you to jump, to change to piqué turns and coupés jetés but you weren’t ready. Not yet.

No, you were almost finished with your dance, the rain pelting the windows at the edge of your awareness. Lightning lit up the room a beat before a loud crash of thunder. You startled but you finished the dance, a series of pirouettes. As you spun to the finish, the power cut out leaving you in darkness as you collided with a solid form.

Your heart raced to feel rough hands wrap around your upper arms, your hands planted on the firm wall of a chest. The coarse material under your fingers felt rough and worn. The wind and the rain lashed the windows with renewed force.

It was pitch black. You swallowed hard in fear. Another crack of thunder sounded close and you flinched.

“Shhh, it’s me,” he spoke quietly.

Grant?

“I have a generator.” His deep voice was calming. _Grant’s voice_. “If you stay right here, I’ll go crank it up. Okay?”

“Yes… Thank you.”

Carefully, he let go of you and you heard his heavy tread as he headed back to your front door. He didn’t stumble or pause. How could he see in the darkness?

Feeling your way back across the room, your hand found the barre and you stayed there, waiting. It was mere minutes before the lights came back on, the ceiling fan overhead stirring the warm, still air in the room.

The door reopened and your landlord walked back in, wearing some type of military uniform. It may have once been blue, it had a star at the center of his chest that might have been… white? But the star burned out a long time ago like a lost beacon of hope. The star made you realize why he looked so familiar.

You’d always thought him handsome with his broad shoulders and long muscular limbs. His hair was dark gold and the beard he wore normally gave him a polished look. Combined with the hard look in his eyes right now, he looked anything but polished or safe.

He looked dangerous.

And then it clicked in your mind…

_Oh my God. He’s Steve Rogers._ Captain America had gone rogue, was wanted by international authorities. The press conferences had aired for weeks. That was why…

He planted his hands on his hips, his head dropping but not before you saw the resignation in his eyes. “You’re a smart girl. I shouldn’t be surprised you figured it out.”

He _admitted_ it.

Fear swelled in your chest. Wait. What did that mean for _you_? Would you still have a place to stay?

Would he let you live now that you knew?

You backed away, both hands clutching the barre at your back.

Taking a deep steadying breath, you forced yourself to meet his gaze.

“I… I promise I won’t say anything.” You meant it.

That earned you a look. His blue eyes darkened as his gaze slowly trailed over your body as you stood trembling. You shuddered where you stood.

“Our arrangement was working so well,” Steve explained. “It looks like you live alone here. I could come and go when I needed to, hide in plain sight.”

Steve’s gaze locked with yours.

“It’s too bad I can’t trust you.”

“I didn’t know,” you pleaded. “And I wouldn’t tell anyone _anything_. I swear.”

His gaze searched yours. The shadows behind his eyes spoke of regret, resignation, and fatigue. But it was blended with something darker. Something wild…

“What if I’m the criminal they say I am?” he asked quietly.

_What if he was?_ You knew he could probably read the fear on your face, in the tense lines of your body.

“I promise.” You had to try. “I won’t say anything.”

“You’re not very good at keeping promises though, are you?” He took a step closer.

The question sent a spike of fear through your heart.

“I’ve… kept your rules,” you told him, watching in fear as he took another step closer.

“No, you haven’t.”

You knew you were staring as he moved closer still. “What?”

“I said no one stays here overnight.” Steve’s expression was brooding, something like anger flashing in his eyes. “Want to tell me about that night? Or do you want me to tell _you_?”

_Shit._ He knew. You didn’t know how he knew because you thought he’d been gone for two solid weeks.

Still, _you_ didn’t count that little visit.

“He didn’t stay overnight,” you tried. “Shawn left late but…”

“I don’t want to know his name,” Steve’s tone was sharp. “I know he stayed long enough to fuck you.”

You caught yourself before you said, “and?” Your personal life wasn’t his business as long as you paid the rent and didn’t break his rules, right? But you could be one stupid comment away from finding yourself on the street. Or worse, disappearing altogether.

You let go of the barre, crossing your arms over your chest and curling in on yourself.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” you told him.

Your back was against the barre and he was right in front of you now, his hands encased in fingerless gloves. He lifted a hand, tracing the line of your collar bone, the soft round of your shoulder with the rough pads of his fingers. Again, you shivered.

Steve hummed.

“How sorry?”

_Oh, God. Did he mean…?_

The covetous way his gaze moved over your face and hair, made you realize what he had in mind.

“What do you want?” It sounded a lot braver in your mind.

If you were right, were you willing to go through with it?

Steve’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. He hooked a finger through the strap of your leotard, testing its strength.

“I think you know,” he said quietly.

You tried to hold still but you were shaking in fear as he loomed over you.

“Don’t look so worried,” Steve smirked. “After watching what little your friend could do for you, you might appreciate the touch of a man who knows what he’s doing.”

“You… How did you… You watched?” You were horrified. You’d been locked in your bedroom with Shawn just in case Steve had come home. There were cameras? Some kind of surveillance system?

“It’s _my_ house,” Steve reminded you. “I know everything that goes on here. Even when I’m away.”

Humiliation was a flame burning you from the inside. What else had he seen? Had he watched you dance? Had he watched you in private moments on your bed? Trying to satisfy your own needs?

“You _watched_ me?”

A corner of his mouth curved up into a half-smirk. “In the beginning, I just reviewed footage once in a while to make sure the location was secure. That you were safe.”

His fingers skimmed up the column of your neck, tugged away the band that held your hair back from your face. You felt the weight of it fall free around your shoulders, watched his heated gaze move over it.

“The way you dance? It’s beautiful. Sometimes… sometimes I’d imagine you were dancing just for me…”

You tried to shrink away as his fingers traced the line of your jaw, tipping your face up to make you look at him.

“And some nights after you practiced? Well… You were lonely, weren’t you?”

_Oh, God._ He’d seen everything. Seen you after your shower or bath when you thought you were alone, thought you were just taking care of the needs you had late at night…

“I’m sorry about having a guest over,” you said slowly, struggling to hold his gaze. “I understand now why… you have to be careful with who comes here. I know that now.”

Your mind scrambled for a way out of the situation.

“Shawn and I have been dating since then.” You hoped he couldn’t tell you were lying. “We’ve been talking about… getting a place together. So… maybe it’s best if I started making arrangements.”

Steve blew out an exhale, that hint of a smile fading. “You’re a bad liar, Sweetheart.”

Your heart raced and you shook your head in denial. “No, it’s true,” you tried. “I can be gone by… by this weekend.”

You’d have to beg Annette or Becca to see if they had a couch you could sleep on but at this point, you weren’t above begging.

“That _boy_ isn’t your anything,” Steve told you. “If he was, he wouldn’t have let you hide him away in your bedroom.”

Steve leaned closer, his blue eyes mesmerizing. “He would have enjoyed you for longer than twenty-two minutes.”

When he lowered his head to kiss your mouth, you froze in fear. He didn’t seem to mind. His lips caressed yours in a careful way you wouldn’t have expected, his strong fingers cupping the back of your head. When his tongue slid along the seam of your lips, you turned away, breaking the kiss.

You didn’t miss the wicked glint in his eyes as he straightened, tall above you.

“And you’re not going anywhere,” he said quietly with meaning. “Our arrangement will continue because it benefits both of us.”

The storm raged on outside as you considered your options.

“How will this benefit me?” you wanted to know. “I don’t want this.”

Steve moved imperceptibly closer. You could feel the heat coming off him and it would have been welcome in the chill of the stormy night under different circumstances.

“You don’t know until you’ve had it,” he whispered, his gaze never leaving yours.

“Or… I could dance for you?” You had to try. “I could do that instead…”

Holding your gaze for a long moment, your heartbeat so loud you knew he could hear it. Finally, he stepped back, motioning with one hand to the open floor where you practiced.

You took a deep steadying breath. Here was your chance. _Maybe._ Could you do this?

You scrambled to the wall he was now leaning against, lifting your phone from the speaker to select a song. You’d dance for him. And if you could be quick…

If he’d been watching you since you’d been there, he’d seen the dance you were rehearsing a hundred times at least. So you picked out a dance from the first act of _Giselle_ , one of your favorites. The music began and you took your position, your body remembering the dance easily as you slid into the role of a simple village girl at the festival. You kept your movements light, flirtatious.

You stole glances as him where he stood, noticing that he looked tired and it was approaching one in the morning. Maybe. _Just maybe._ A series of pirouettes and you altered the steps to take you closer to the entranceway of your living room studio. One more step, two more…

As soon as you crossed into the kitchen, you sprinted for the door. You had the deadbolt thrown and the door unlocked in the span of two heartbeats. You threw the door open, feeling the cold sting of rain on your body one second before iron-hard hands grabbed you. Your scream was muffled by the leather of his glove as he hauled you back into the house, kicking and fighting him all the way.

You were in good physical shape, your legs strong. But you were no match for him. He held onto you easily as he secured the door, seeming in no hurry as you screamed the house down. The neighbors? Someone might hear you.

Steve carried past your studio room and headed for the master bedroom where you slept. Your heart raced as you struggled in his hold, but his arms were like bands of steel holding you to him. He casually tossed you onto the center of your bed, climbing on after you and pulling something from the belt he wore. When you saw what looked like a nylon rope, you tried to dodge around him to get off the bed.

You didn’t make it far. Hauling you back up the bed by one arm, you fought and kicked. You put everything you had into while he just managed to look annoyed. Straddling you to trap your lower body between his powerful thighs, he easily fastened your wrists to the bars of the antique headboard. When he was finished, you saw that fatigue start to fade from his face. You saw his gaze light up with unholy interest.

“Steve, I’m begging you.” You were sucking in air from your efforts. “Please don’t do this…”

He took his time pulling off those fingerless gloves, tossed them to the side.

“But I _want_ to do this,” he told you in no uncertain terms.

“I don’t… want this,” you panted out, watching as he began casually removing the leather straps on his uniform, his belt.

You tugged violently at your wrists, feeling the cord bite into your wrists as you did.

Steve watched you calmly. “Going to tear up those pretty wrists if you keep doing that,” his voice was just above a whisper. “You don’t want that for your performances.”

Tears stung the backs of your eyes as you contemplated that. “Does it matter?”

Would you ever see the theatre or your friends again? Would he kill you when he was done with you?

“It does unless you want to wear ligature marks while you dance,” he pointed out. He sighed.“Or you could just give in.”

He smirked when he added that, working the top of his uniform off.

All you could do was stare at that powerful upper body, the smell of smoke and man reaching you as your gaze took in all those muscles dusted in dirt and covered in old scars and a few fresh cuts. He let you get a good look, his bare hands dropping to your waist to rip away your skirt.

Those big rough hands skimmed over your hips then back up over your ribs, over your breasts as you writhed against him. One hand lingered at one breast while the other slid over your chest to your neck, up to your jaw.

Tears were sliding from the corners of your eyes now and you shook your head in denial.

“Hey,” Steve said quietly, brushing away a tear with the pad of his thumb. “I’m not going to hurt you. That was never my intention.”

“Yes, you are,” your voice cracked on the words.

“Shhh,” he soothed, his hand smoothing over your face and hair. “We can help each other.”

That hand joined the other at the front of your leotard and he tore it right down the front as if it were fragile as tissue paper. Your upper body was bared to him, your nipples drawing up into tight little points while you cringed in shame. Apparently, that wasn’t good enough. Reaching behind him, he pulled a wicked-looking knife and you cowered beneath him now, scared.

Steve just shook his head.“Stay still,” he whispered, cutting through the straps of your dance gear until it fell away from your shoulders.

When he shifted over you, you tried to move your legs, tried to put your knee in his crotch. His gaze was disapproving as he moved to your side and grabbed your ankles, your feet still encased in your pointe shoes. It seemed so easy for him to grab your ankles, his fingers working at the ribbons that wrapped your ankles. You thought he meant to remove them. Instead you watched as he used the ribbons to bind your feet together.

“You have powerful thighs,” he mused, slotting his upper body up into the ring your bound legs made. You could feel the heat of his lips, the faint scratch of his beard through the thin tights you wore as he chained kissed up your thigh, over your tummy. “I’ve only ever known one other woman with legs like yours.”

You struggled to free your wrists, your ankles. All you did was manage to look like you were putting on a wanton display just for him.

“You _do_ this a lot?” you had to ask, tears in your voice, gasping when his lips pressed into the flesh just below one breast.

“Not at all,” he whispered, pressing a soft string of kisses along the underside of your breast. “So many nights when out in the middle of nowhere… I had nothing to do but watch you dance.” His mouth was hot around the hard point of your nipple, his lips a delicate tease. His tongue danced over it carefully while his hand covered your other breast, his palm and fingers rough against your skin. “I’d watch you on your bed later needing a man’s touch… needing _my_ touch.”

Steve used his mouth and hands on your breasts but nothing about the way he touched you, played you was rough or demeaning. Despite yourself, you felt currents of pleasure course through your bloodstream, down to heat up your core. He claimed your lips briefly until you turned your head, blazed a trail of kisses down the column of your neck. You weren’t proud of the fact that you were eventually grinding yourself against his abdomen, the hot press of him beneath the uniform, seeking friction. What else could you do? Your ankles were tied, your heels at his lower back with little wiggle room.

The scent of a man fresh from battle blended with the notes of your arousal, had you feeling light-headed as Steve lifted himself from you to rip through the rest of your leotard, the top of your tights. He wasn’t so concerned now with pulling them completely from you. No, he just wanted to bare the flesh that he’d rendered wet and aching. And when he had, he moved down your body and dove for you with his mouth.

With his heavily muscled arms wrapped around your thighs, you didn’t have a lot of slack to move at all. You tried to work your hands free, tried to work your feet together to push off the shoes with no luck. And all the while he pulled high cries from you as his mouth worked into your pussy, his beard wet and rough against that tender flesh, his lips and tongue wicked heat that you couldn’t get away from.

One finger slid through your intimate folds as you struggled to breathe.

“Oh, you can do better than that,” he whispered against you. “I want you to scream… Want to shatter you.”

Steve destroyed you with his mouth and fingers, his tongue twisting within your folds. He worked his fingers into you until you were circling your pussy in his face, wanting to move closer, wanting more. Release was riding you hard, lighting your body up like a fever. Steve moaned into you, curling his fingers within you until you did shatter, screaming and fighting like a banshee in his hold.

Steve held you down, watching as you drowned in the waves of an orgasm that shook you apart. And he left you no time to recover. The moment your muscles eased, and you collapsed on the bed to just try and breathe, his mouth was back on you, his fingers playing you like an instrument he’d long ago mastered.

“Come on,” he urged as another release rose in your body. “Come again.”

You didn’t have a choice, your body twisted in its restraints as the orgasm wrecked you, left you a panting mess, helpless on your own bed.

Your inner walls ached and throbbed, craving more and the bastard knew it. He didn’t do more than take the uniform down his thighs, sliding above you and fitting himself within the tight ring of your legs. You caught a glimpse of his cock, huge and swollen and by God, you wanted _that_. It was intimidating as hell but you needed something to pound out the craving he’d meticulously stoked from your body.

Steve stopped when he pressed the swollen head against your greedy entrance.

“You want this _now_?” he demanded.

The room was spinning with the remaining vestiges of your last release. You tried to focus on his face, those gorgeous blue eyes. You realized that he’d spoken…

“What?”

“Beg me,” his whispered voice was rough. “Tell me you _want_ this.”

You _did_ want him, but you’d be damned if you’d tell him that. You didn’t ask for this. He’d _made_ you feel that way.

He slid the head of his cock through your wetness, using just enough pressure against your clit to make you ache more.

When you remained stubbornly silent, Steve stopped.

“I can finish myself,” his voice was deep and rough, stroking himself with a hand. “Come all over you… And then leave you here unsatisfied, no way to get yourself off… Is that what you want?”

You swallowed hard. No, you didn’t fucking want that. Aside from the fact that your shoulders ached and you were starting to tire, you _wanted_ him. You wanted him to pound you into the bed you were so worked up.

But Steve seemed determined to humiliate you. To make you say it.

You finally shook your head.

“Gonna need you to tell me,” he whispered, pressing the head of his cock just inside you. “Tell me what you want.”

“Please,” you whined, squeezing your eyes shut so you wouldn’t have to see the gloat in his eyes. “Please…”

Your heart throbbed in your chest, you focused on your breathing.

“Look at me,” he whispered.

The moment your eyes opened he sank into you. He stretched you open and slid home until you didn’t know where he ended, and you began. The burn and the fullness took your breath away because you hadn’t experienced anything like that before.

He paused, you thought to let you adjust but in a daze you noticed him working at the rope binding your wrists. Your hands pulled free, cold and tingling as the blood flow returned to them. They weren’t cold for long because Steve captured your hands in his, fingers lacing with yours as he pressed them to the pillow around your head.

Your walls clenched around him a beat before he began to move inside you, careful and easy at the start. He held onto your hands as a lover might, his grip tight but it didn’t hurt. Kisses dropped over your hair, your face. When he claimed your mouth, he didn’t let you break the kiss. Instead, he enticed you, drugged you with soft touches of his lips, the taste of desire and loneliness.

His body demanded more, a contrast to his kisses. His thighs ground against yours, pushing them wider and straining the bonds at your ankles. Planting his knees, he pushed even deeper into you, spearing into you relentlessly until you were gasping into his mouth.

You fought against his hold, but you didn’t know if you wanted him to stop or you wanted to hang onto him. Your thighs were locked around his slim hips, your hips moving with his. You tried to grind yourself into him, needing him…

Steve picked up on what you were doing, moving both of your hands to one of his so he could slide a hand down between, to seek out the center of your excitement with careful fingers.

Your high cry filled the room. You were aware of his mouth pressing hotly along your neck as his fingers teased you, his thrusts coming hard and faster.

“Don’t fight me,” he whispered hotly in your ear. Your walls squeezed him pulling a soft sob from him that would have been satisfying if you hadn’t been about to lose your mind. “You gotta come… You gotta let go for me…”

Ending a thrust here and there with a dirty grind, Steve pushed you over the edge until you screamed. The finesse of his fingers, the power of his thrusts never let up until one orgasm bled into another, until you were wailing. His name was an anguished prayer on your lips as he chased his own end, dropping his weight onto you until you were buried in the mattress and trying to weather the storm of his loving.

Your name was a fierce growl as his final thrusts punched the breath from you. Watching him unfurl above you in the haze of your desire was gorgeous and terrifying all at once…

Sleep and the exhaustion were trying to pull you under. You were aware of the care he took in untying your feet, in peeling off what was left of your dancing clothes. Warmth woke you up next, the old-fashioned radiator in the bathroom heating that room filled with fragrant steam. Strong arms carried you, lowered you through a layer of white bubbles into a warm bath.

You were leaning back against him in the clawfoot tub, enjoying the way your muscles relaxed in the warm water. You liked, even more, the way his hands smoothed over your body in the water.

“You awake?” his voice was a low purr just below your ear and you shivered.

You nodded though you couldn’t swear to being that alert.

“See how good we are for each other?” His voice was so gentle. “See how good I can make you feel?”

_I see that you’ve lost your mind._

But he hadn’t hurt you. He’d kept that promise.

His hand slid carefully between your thighs and you tensed, still sensitive.

“Shhh,” he whispered into your hair. “Let me. I’ll be careful.”

And he was, his fingers trying to stir the embers he’d left inside you. You had to hope your IUD worked with him…

“Nothing has to change,” Steve whispered, “except that you’ll be mine now… And I’ll be yours.”

His hands hooked around your knees beneath the bubbles, pulled them over his own thighs to spread you wide. You didn’t even have it in you to fight him now.

“People are looking for you,” you pointed out weakly. “The government…”

Gentle kisses along your neck and shoulder. “I’ll keep you safe.”

“What if they catch you?” you asked, moaning to feel him sliding up from beneath you, the length of him skimming against your spread folds.

“I’ll stay ahead of them,” he told you, positioning himself at your opening. “But I won’t leave you behind… I promise. I won’t let anyone you away from me.”

You pulled in air as he slid inside you, filling you again.

“How will you keep me from running away?” you wanted to know, the question for the small part of your mind screaming in protest at everything that had happened.

“You won’t run from me,” Steve promised, slowly begin to move carefully within you. “You can try but you won’t get far.”

***

“There you are.” Anette smiled as you climbed the stairs to the studio, more tired than you could say.

Steve had taken you a few times overnight, finally letting you sleep just before dawn. You’d maybe had four hours of sleep before you had to show up for the company. You didn’t know how you’d get through. Every part of you was sore, aching.

When Steve said you couldn’t run from him, had he meant he’d fuck you until you were too tired to do so?

Annette’s grin widened when you reached her at the top. “Someone have a date last night?”

Remembering your agreement with Steve, you shook your head. “I just couldn’t sleep.”

“After that bitch cut you up yesterday, it’s no wonder.” Annette walked with you down the hall to the studio. “Speaking of that, you’ll never believe what happened.”

Tired as you were, you could tell Annette was busting at the seams to tell you what she knew and you didn’t. She stopped before you opened the door to the studio.

“They fired Contessa last night,” she explained. “We have a new choreographer and she’s _awesome_.”

That was good news and gave you a little bit of hope. “Is she here today?”

The door opened then, a stunning woman no taller than you with blonde hair stood in the doorway.

“This is her,” Annette said in the way of introductions. “This is Natalia.”

Beautiful green eyes looked you over, her smile genuine as she said your name.

You nodded. “It’s nice to meet you, Natalia.”

You just hoped the new choreographer was easier to please than Contessa, especially considering your current state.

“Nice to meet you too,” she said, motioning you in. “Let’s get started.”


End file.
